


Blushing Pretty

by the_deep_magic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Butt Plugs, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Magic, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Top Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:54:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight’s the rare occasion when he gets to take Stiles apart, piece by piece, and Stiles – annoying, mouthy, brilliant, gorgeous Stiles – <i>lets</i> him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blushing Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to prove to myself I could still write a PWP. Couldn’t keep the feelings out, though.

“Well, I’m just about up for another round. You?”

“Was ready… a fuckin’ hour ago.” It takes Stiles a full second to get his words out, and he still has to pause for breath in the middle. Derek can’t help but grin. He doesn’t even mean to make it wicked, but Stiles pulls a face at him that says he’d be flipping Derek off if he had the use of his hands and Derek laughs.

He leans down, touching Stiles nowhere save for lips brushing against his ear as he whispers, “I told you, not until the rest of your body is the same shade of red as your cock.”

It’s a pretty lofty goal. Stiles’ cock hardens to a deep, angry flush on a normal day, and when he’s been tied down and teased for hours, well… it’s beautiful. Derek doesn’t even have a name for the color. And it’s not really possible for the rest of Stiles’ body to turn the same shade – Derek’s pretty sure there’s not enough blood in his veins – but oh, it’s trying so hard.

It starts on Stiles’ cheeks when Derek first ties his wrists carefully to the headboard – mostly arousal, but a little embarrassment, too. Stiles still doesn’t understand, may never really understand, how gorgeous he is to Derek, how much Derek loves to look.

And touch. He can never wait very long before touching, even when Stiles isn’t grasping at him like he’s the last thing on earth. It feels like Derek’s painting, slowly, bringing that blush down Stiles’ cheeks to his neck with gentle strokes of his fingers. It’s a little like magic, Stiles’ spark coming to life just beneath his skin. And, well, maybe Derek helps it out a little with his mouth, sucking the deep red right to the surface just below his collarbone until Stiles is twisting and moaning beneath him, trying to thrust up and get some friction on his rapidly hardening cock. Derek has to clamp his knees around Stiles’ thighs and bend over carefully so his own erection doesn’t drag against the heated skin. If he starts rutting into the groove of Stiles’ hip, he probably won’t be able to stop, and he has other plans for tonight.

They get this chance so rarely – nothing trying to kill them or eat them (or mate with them; _that’s_ happened entirely too often, and Derek never knew how many terrifyingly horny supernatural entities there were roaming the earth until he built a pack of pheromone-leaking teenagers three years ago). The rest of the pack gone for the night – the _whole_ night, unless they want to hear things that will scar them for life. Erica looked more intrigued than put out, but Isaac and Boyd managed to drag her off with them.

No quick, angry fuck on the nearest horizontal surface this time. Not even the slow, post-battle, life-affirming sex that leaves Derek more spent and wrung out than the fighting itself. Tonight’s the rare occasion when he gets to take Stiles apart, piece by piece, and Stiles – annoying, mouthy, brilliant, gorgeous Stiles – _lets_ him. It’s enough to make Derek crazy.

So the first time around, when splotches of red are starting to bloom spontaneously across Stiles’ chest and Derek has Stiles’ hips hiked easily in the air, is just for Derek, just to take the edge off, give him some patience for the rest of the night. Not that Stiles doesn’t vocally enjoy every hard, deep thrust of it, but he doesn’t get to come yet, doesn’t even get to have his cock touched. He still throws his head back and gives Derek the filthiest running commentary imaginable ( _god, yeah, fuck me, shoot in me, fucking fill me up with it_ ) as Derek selfishly takes his pleasure, coming deep inside Stiles as Stiles rolls his hips back the best he can, clenching greedily around Derek’s cock in him.

When Derek pulls out, he carefully plugs Stiles to keep him stretched for later – but more importantly, to keep his cum inside.

Still, Stiles whines and tightens around the plug, not thick or deep enough to stimulate him the way he wants. “It’s not the same,” he complains. “It’s not _you_.”

Stiles can’t hear what that does to Derek’s heartbeat, the way it skip-stutters before smoothing back out again, but Derek suspects Stiles knows, anyway.

And then, physical need sated for the moment, Derek gets to _play_.

Stiles’ body is like a musical instrument that gets more and more sensitive to touch the longer it’s played. There are the obvious strings to pluck: Stiles’ nipples, which can take a fair amount of abuse until they’re swollen and sore and Derek can make him cry out just by blowing a stream of air across them. Stiles’ neck and throat, of course, though Derek rarely marks him there. Stiles prefers marks that can be hidden by clothing, and Derek respects that; as long as he and Stiles both know they’re there, that’s all that matters. Stiles’ balls, which are more sensitive from the beginning, and the soft skin just behind, so Derek usually tries to wait as long as he can stand before pressing there. Usually, he’s rewarded with a thick drop of precum from the tip of Stiles’ cock, and tonight is no exception.

But there are other places that make Stiles flush, too, like his sides, just below his ribs. Too soft a touch and he’s ticklish; just right and he’s squirming, biting down on his lip as though that does anything to stifle the sweet little sounds he makes. The backs of Stiles’ knees – that really gets him blushing, like he’s embarrassed that Derek even knows about those spots. And when he’s worked up enough to really start sweating, Derek’s nose in his armpit, in the crease of his groin. Derek blames stupid human deodorant commercials, because Stiles has nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just a purer version of his scent, making Derek even hungrier because it’s spiced with Stiles’ arousal, thick and heady by now. Humans are attracted to each other’s looks, voices; werewolves have the added dimension of scent, and Stiles _smells_ sexy in a way no one else does.

“Just gonna sniff me all night, big guy, or are you gonna do something about it?” Stiles’ voice is shaky, his tone completely at odds with the challenge of his words, but he’s still lucid enough to string together a sentence, and that will never do.

“Oh, I’ve already done plenty,” Derek says, keeping his voice light as he drags blunt fingernails down the insides of Stiles’ arms and watches him shiver. “Maybe I’m finished for the night.”

It’s absolutely a lie; if Stiles were to lift his head and look down, he’d see that Derek’s getting hard again. Slowly, because he hasn’t been touching himself or rubbing up against Stiles, but he’s getting there, all the faster when Stiles whimpers a little and says “ _please_ ” for the first time tonight. He bites his lip hard, but the word’s already out, and Derek coaxes Stiles’ mouth back open with his tongue, soothing Stiles’ lower lip. And then he can’t help but dip in deeper, deeper, until he’s kissing Stiles with enough force to press his head back into the pillow.

When they break for air, Derek rubs a stubbled cheek across Stiles’ face, as though it were possible to make it any redder. “We’ll get there,” he murmurs.

Stiles whimpers again, trying to thrust up, and even though Derek’s already come once tonight, it’s getting harder to control himself. His wolf smells its mate’s arousal, sees his need and wants to satisfy him immediately and thoroughly. But that can wait. It will be better – _so much better_ – to hold off a little longer, to push Stiles a little harder.

As it is, his flush has already spread down to the pale skin of his stomach. Such a tender, exposed thing, Stiles’ belly: soft and concave now, though there’s lean muscle underneath. Derek lets his claws slide out and draws the very tip of one right down the center of Stiles’ body, sternum to navel. Stiles goes wide-eyed and perfectly still beneath him, but there’s not a trace of fear in his scent. The muscles beneath Derek’s claw twitch involuntarily and Stiles’ cock leaks a little more.

The urge to taste is too powerful to resist, but Derek makes sure to hold Stiles’ hips down with human fingers as he bends to lick the sticky pool of precum off Stiles’ belly. Stiles moans, body trying to twist to get his cock against Derek’s lips but Derek’s got him pinned easily. Stiles practically sobs when Derek takes his mouth away, licking his lips lazily.

It’s taken time for Derek to learn Stiles this well, to know Stiles’ body almost better than his own. Time to learn to trust each other: first in combat, then outside of it. It’s been painful at times, and occasionally downright terrifying, but Derek never fails to feel amazed when he’s given this – Stiles, vulnerable and waiting beneath him, so close to flat-out begging that Derek can hear it in the hitch of his breath.

Derek scoots back, spreading Stiles’ thighs to kneel between them and hike Stiles’ hips up until they’re practically on Derek’s lap. Stiles’ chest heaves with breath as Derek simply takes hold of his hips, kneading his thumbs into the sweat-slick hollows there until Stiles is gasping, “Need more. Please.”

“More of what?” Derek asks evenly. He still can’t quite manage coy and teasing the way Stiles does, but at this point, it hardly matters.

Stiles groans and buries his face against his arm. Derek takes perverse pleasure in making Stiles say it when there’s no way Derek could do the same if their positions were reversed. But Stiles will, and Derek can wait when it comes to this. Still, he helps Stiles along by tilting his hips up, running a thumb against the delicate skin stretched tight around the plug stuffed in him. Stiles practically mewls. “Your fingers, your cock, _anything_.”

“Anything?” Derek repeats, cocking an eyebrow. They have a prostate stimulator with a vibrator strong enough to make Stiles honest-to-god scream. It’s in a box under the bed, but it wouldn’t take Derek long to get.

“Anything,” Stiles groans, and Derek decides against the vibrator – he wants to take Stiles apart by hand tonight. It takes a little longer, but it’s much more satisfying, makes Derek’s wolf howl with pride. And he’s never explicitly asked, but Stiles seems to prefer it, too, on the rare occasions when they have the time.

“I think,” Derek begins quietly, rubbing a little harder around the edge of the plug, “that I’m going to put my fingers in you, stretch you open until you’re ready for my cock again.” The words still don’t exactly come easily to him, but having Stiles at his mercy like this is… well, _inspiring_ is a bit of an understatement. “Then I’m going to fuck you, hard and slow, until you forget everything but my name. How does that sound?”

Stiles whimpers.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

Derek doesn’t give him time to respond before pressing the very tip of his thumb in alongside the plug, making Stiles’ whole body jerk and forcing a wordless cry out of him. It takes him three deep, gasping breaths before he can say, “yes, Derek, _please_.”

He whimpers again when Derek takes his thumb away, and Derek chuckles softly at that, spreading Stiles’ legs even wider. The pale skin on the inside of his thighs is flushed pink now even though Derek has hardly even touched him there. He works the plug out of Stiles’ hole, stomach clenching at Stiles’ quiet sob of emptiness. God, he’d love to press his face down there, rim Stiles until he’s shaking, push his tongue in until Derek can taste himself inside. But the good lube they used – the stuff that keeps Stiles slick for hours – tastes fucking atrocious, even if Derek had the patience to wipe him down first, so Derek uses the tip of his finger the best he can, teasing at Stiles’ twitching hole. Swirling, rubbing, pressing in lightly, feeling Stiles’ body trying to draw him in.

Two fingers slide in easily and make Stiles whine and twist in his bonds. Derek begins to work his hand slowly, the tips of his fingers just glancing off Stiles’ prostate on every pull back. Stiles’ whole body is not only flushed now, but glistening with sweat, so sensitive and overworked that he’d be thrashing if it weren’t for Derek’s hand splayed flat on his stomach, holding him steady.

“You could come just like this, couldn’t you?” Derek asks, no small amount of wonder in his voice. “Not a hand on your cock, if I gave you just a little more pressure… here.” He drags over Stiles’ sweet spot again and Stiles keens, his eyes squinched shut so hard that tears are starting to leak from the corners.

Derek wants to see it happen, wants to watch Stiles’ cock jerk and spurt all over his soft, blushing skin, but he _needs_ to be inside Stiles when it happens. So he adds another finger, Stiles practically sobbing when Derek goes back to stretching instead of stimulating. “It’s okay,” Derek says, astonished at how wrecked his own voice sounds. “Just a little bit longer. You’re doing so well.”

Words start to form through the sobs, _please_ and _I can take it_ and _Derek Derek Derek_ until Derek reaches his own limit. He fumbles for the lube behind him on the bed, slicking himself generously and wrapping an arm around Stiles’ lower back to lift him to the right angle.

It’s not as urgent this time – not for Derek – but the way Stiles groans with relief as Derek sinks into him nearly shreds Derek’s control. Despite the plug and Derek’s fingers, Stiles is still spasming tight around him and it makes Derek go slowly, his thrusts long and steady until Stiles’ overtaxed body relaxes a little.

“Open your eyes,” Derek says, breathless, trying to keep the rhythm. “Stiles, look at me.”

When Stiles’ eyes open, they’re wet with tears, and Derek can barely see the rings of amber around his blown pupils. “So beautiful like this,” Derek murmurs. “All flushed and strung out, just for me. I want to keep you like this. Right here on the edge, begging for my cock. So I could always give you just what you need.”

Stiles can’t even make words anymore, just hoarse whimpers and needy moans, but he shifts his hips, wraps his legs around Derek’s back to pull him closer and Derek relents, shifting the angle so he’s hitting Stiles’ sweet spot on every stroke. Stiles wails, his whole body jolting with the pleasure of it, but after a few moments he tightens his legs even more, bringing Derek in closer, and Derek knows what he wants.

Derek lowers Stiles’ hips to the bed, still rocking steadily into him, and leans down to kiss Stiles, this time letting their whole bodies press together. It’s overload for Stiles, whose very skin is so sensitive it’s almost glowing, and Derek just manages to catch Stiles’ moan in his mouth. Stiles’ heart, already hummingbird-fast, speeds up and his body tightens, his cock trapped between their bodies and finally getting the friction it needs.

When Stiles comes, he stops breathing, his head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream, his whole body locked in a rigid arch that Derek grinds against. The force of it spreads out of him like a shockwave, rumbling right through Derek and actually shaking the walls, rattling the pictures in their frames on each hard pulse of his orgasm, a little less each time until it dies down completely and Stiles has collapsed back down to the bed, breathing in huge, greedy gasps.

It only takes Derek a second to get over the astonishment, and then he’s burying his face against Stiles’ throat and rutting desperately, his own climax feeling like a mere aftershock of Stiles’. He pulls out soon after, but notices that despite the cum coating both of their bellies, Stiles is still hard. He’s staring at the ceiling, eyes unfocused, and Derek wonders if would be too much if he…

But Stiles’ cock has barely been touched, so Derek chances it, bending down to take just the head in his mouth. He’s never seen this happen before – Stiles recovers fast, but not this fast – but he’s also never seen Stiles come so hard that the fucking house shook. Stiles mewls and twitches a little at the feeling of Derek’s mouth, but Derek breathes in deeply and doesn’t smell pain. Still, he’s careful, soft with his mouth as he swirls his tongue around the tip, lapping gently beneath the head, and it only takes a minute before Stiles is coming again, pulsing weakly against Derek’s tongue. No wall-shaking this time, but Derek swears there’s a barely perceptible shimmer in the air around them. He can hear in Stiles’ heartbeat the second it becomes too much, and when he pulls his mouth away, Stiles is well and truly spent.

Derek immediately reaches up to slice through Stiles’ bonds with a sharp claw, helping Stiles bring his arms down and get comfortable on the bed. He’s still shaking, face streaked with tears, and when Derek goes to hold him, Stiles catches his hand, clinging to it but not letting Derek haul him in close like he usually does. Derek worries something’s gone wrong, he’s pushed Stiles too far, but he smells like he always does after sex – lazy satisfaction like baking bread and sun-warmed rocks.

It takes a full two and a half minutes until Stiles can talk again – Derek counts – and if it weren’t for Stiles’ scent, his fingers still tangled with Derek’s, Derek would worry. But maybe Stiles just needs a little space, needs to get himself back under control. So Derek tries to calm his own heart until he finally hears Stiles wheeze, “What. The fuck. Was _that_?”

Derek’s surprised into an incredulous laugh. “You mean you don’t know? That’s never happened to you before?”

Stiles turns his head on the pillow and fixes Derek with a look he knows well. “What, the part where my orgasm may have _compromised the structural integrity of the building_? No, Derek, I believe I would have mentioned that. At every possible occasion. And possibly listed it on my resume. Holy _shit_.”

And then, to Derek’s eternal relief, Stiles starts laughing, too. It’s an exhausted chuckle – frankly, Derek is a little surprised he’s still conscious – but it’s a laugh, and he spends what seems to be his last bit of energy rolling to flop against Derek’s body like he usually does. “Spark, my _ass_ ,” he groans.

Derek grins into Stiles’ hair and wraps a careful arm around him, glad to be back in familiar territory. “You think we should ask Deaton about this?” Derek asks, teasing.

“Only if you’re the one who brings it up,” Stiles slurs against his chest. “I wanna hear you explain how, exactly, you fucked me onto the Richter scale.” Before Derek can think of a suitable come back, Stiles sighs, “Mmkay, I’m-a pass out now. Tha’ was awesome an’ I love you.”

Derek knows it’s not supposed to count after sex – especially sex like _that_ – and Stiles is already asleep, but he whispers it back anyway.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Blushing Pretty by the_deep_magic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1286416) by [sallysparrow017](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallysparrow017/pseuds/sallysparrow017)




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